


old souls

by falseaxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falseaxiom/pseuds/falseaxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"</p><p>"Unfortunately, no. I've been plagued with this heaping pile of useless, irrelevant information for lifetimes upon lifetimes, and it's about time you join me in the hellish quarantine zone that some dare to call 'reminiscence'."</p>
            </blockquote>





	old souls

**Author's Note:**

> happy 612, everyone! this one's a LOT longer than my first three, whoops. i was in a rut for a while there until [marlog](http://ask-cg-ta-gc.tumblr.com) gave me a prompt for this. dedicated to her--i hope i did it justice ;0
> 
> (also my first au fic ever! enjoy!!)

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, no. I've been plagued with this heaping pile of useless, irrelevant information for lifetimes upon lifetimes, and it's about time you join me in the hellish quarantine zone that some dare to call 'reminiscence'."

You roll your eyes, and he sighs. It's been about five minutes since this scrappy-looking kid, with skin tanned from years in the sunlight and irises as fiery as his attitude, tapped you on the shoulder and started chatting you up, as if the two of you had been buddies all your life. And, according to the nonsense he's spouting, you apparently _were_.

"Look, kid," you tell him, "I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I don't even know your name, and I'm sure you don't know mine."

He scoffs. "Spare me your pleasantries, _Captor_." You blink in disbelief. "I know more about you than _you_ know about you." He pauses for a moment, then kicks your foot lightly. "And where the fuck do you get off calling me 'kid'? I'm easily your age."

After taking a few seconds to recover--how the hell does he know your name?--you laugh, a little more snidely than you intended. "Nineteen years old, and your growth stunted at four-foot-nine? That's adorable." You push up your glasses and give another curt laugh.

"Oh, _fuck_ you, I'm a solid five feet at the very _least_ ," he retorts. "But that's not really what I came here to talk about, now, is it? So maybe we should shut our metaphorical traps and stop poking fun at the disparity between our respective heights?"

" _Pathetic_ disparity, honestly," you can't help but add, which earns a scowl from him, "but alright. I'm sure that whatever self-contained bullshit you've got stewing inside of you is worth hearing. Everyone enjoys humoring a homeless nutjob every now and then."

"I'm not--" He looks down at his hoodie, rife with faded stains and little tears, and straightens it out self-consciously. "I'm not _homeless_ , you condescending shithead. And I'm not a nutjob, either."

"Says the guy who walked up to a stranger and opened with something akin to, 'Hey, asshole, remember me? We were best friends in a past life and I was kinda hoping for a reunion fist bump or some shit like that.' Because that's clearly not ridiculous and impossible."

He crosses his arms tightly, exhales loudly. "You know, for someone who was once intellectually adept enough to program an entire universe by himself, you've been nothing but surprisingly stupid and close-minded every time I've met you thereafter."

You screw your eyebrows together and frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you don't remember," he explains. "You _never_ remember. It would actually be kind of funny if it weren't so damned harrowing. Even Tavros recalls something every now and then."

"If you're implying that this 'Tavros' is a huge idiot, then I'm thoroughly insulted." The name makes the back of your head hurt. You don't dwell on it.

"Oh, I certainly am. Although, he's not completely helpless; he's more idiotic in comparison to _you_ than in the grand scheme of things." He snorts, which surprises you--it occurs to you that you haven't seen him show any sentiment of happiness as of yet. "Nitram's constantly putting himself in danger. Always has some kind of broken bone or permanent injury when I find him."

You press your lips into a straight line. "Aren't _you_ the one who suggested that we not digress?" you point out. You'd rather not talk to this lunatic for longer than necessary.

"Oh, right," he says, like he forgot why he even approached you. "You might want to sit down first, though. Come with me." He grabs your hand and pulls you into a diner nearby, then he lets go to settle in a seat at a small booth. He motions for you to take the seat across from him.

You sit down and rest your elbows on the table, lacing your fingers together. "Is this aforementioned 'useless, irrelevant information' really so pants-shittingly unbelievable that I have to sit down to hear it?"

"Absolutely," he assures you, crossing his arms again and leaning back in his seat. "We should start with some names, nothing too overwhelming." He says the next thing carefully, deliberately, like you might combust if he speaks too quickly. "Does 'Feferi Peixes' ring any bells?"

The consideration is lost on you, though, and before you can form a contemptuous comment about how the (very feminine-sounding) name is probably his, your brain starts to ache. You place two fingers to your temples, close your eyes. Pictures and sounds--no, they're _memories_ , but they're not yours at all--hit you, some more clear than others, and you try to catch each one of them before they disappear. Ashen skin and golden eyes. A brilliant crown, a pair of roseate goggles. Bubbly, beautiful laughter. A great big hole, right through her chest, with pink paint (or is it blood?) trickling out of it.

You open your eyes again and inhale sharply. He's still there, but he's leaning forward this time, looking at you with concern. You wave a hand lightly. "I'm fine," you insist, before he even has the chance to speak. "And, yeah, I guess the name does ring a bell."

He stares at you for a few more seconds before asking, "Do you remember her?"

You wonder how he managed to do that to you, to your mind, but you know better than to question it. You push up your glasses and nod slowly. "It doesn't really feel like they're _my_ memories, though."

"Maybe not yours in this _lifetime_ ," he offers, "but they're definitely yours. Now, Sollux, aren't you glad I had you sit down?"

You hum in begrudging agreement, which is the most he'll get out of you on that topic. "But who was she?" you ask. "Why does she have gray skin? Is she a real person in this 'lifetime'?" You suddenly have more questions than you're willing to admit, and you wonder if he can even answer them.

"She's obviously Feferi, she has gray skin because we were all aliens at one point, and I don't know yet," he responds, then he scratches the back of his neck, like the next thing might be hard to say. "Do you think she's attractive?"

You laugh bluntly. "Oh, yeah, gaping holes through the chest really do it for me," you reply, your voice edged with sarcasm. You entertain the thought, though, and add, "But sure; minus the hole, she's pretty hot."

He nods. "Good, because there's a chance you'll date her sometime before you die."

"Holy shit, really?" you ask incredulously. "Like, as an alien?"

"Maybe, but most likely as a human. You end up with her about forty percent of the time. In my experience, at least."

You grin slightly. "Cool. What about the other sixty percent?"

"Other people we know, for the most part. Then some strangers, which account for maybe two percent."

You wait in silence before you realize he's not going to automatically give you the names of the other people you "know", so you cough and motion for him to keep going.

"Are you sure?" He looks worried, like he thinks the flashbacks might be too intense for you if he continues.

You nod and sit back. "If you say so," he says hesitantly. "Uh, I guess I should just say that the majority of the sixty percent belongs to one 'Aradia Megido'."

He stops there to see how you'll react, which is a good thing, because your head starts spinning as soon as you hear the name. More memories come flooding in, even more than for the Feferi girl. Behind closed eyes, you see a long, tattered skirt, crimson lips, a blank stare. You think you can taste the faint flavor of honey, but something about it feels genuinely _wrong_ , like you were never meant to savor it. Before you open your eyes again, though, the taste goes away, and you see the girl with an impossibly bright smile, holding your hand like you mean the world to her.

You let go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and he frowns. "That one was _definitely_ not okay," he says acutely.

"I can handle it, I promise." You press a closed fist to your forehead to dull the ache.

He rolls his eyes and switches to your side of the booth. "I can't believe you don't recall the whole game by now, Sollux. You usually get it right after seeing Feferi."

"I have no idea what you mean by 'the whole game', but I can assure you that I'll get there," you tell him. This whole ideal is making you feel very stupid, and you hate feeling stupid.

"Okay, but I'm not feeding you any more names," he replies. "In past experiences, you've yelled at me for 'overloading your circuits', or whatever leet speak you usually use."

You feign antipathy. "Don't use terms like that around me--the computer genius community finds those kinds of stereotypes _extremely_ offensive." He can't tell if you're joking or not, and eventually he just looks down at his lap in guilt. You snicker and ruffle his hair, which is black and strangely matted. "You claim to know me better than I know myself, but you still can't tell when I'm being sarcastic," you muse. "Interesting."

He huffs and swats your hand away. "I still have assloads of dirt on you, Captor, and your shitty sense of humor has fuck-all to do with it."

"What kind of dirt?" you ask curiously.

"The kind that you'll never know that I knew until I decide that you've committed the type of jackassery that warrants a public reveal." He smirks, and you think that he _has_ to be bluffing, but considering what's been going on since you started this conversation, you can't be so sure.

Before you can come up with a riposte, though, he glances at the clock above the door and suddenly stands up. "Shit, I have to go," he says quietly. He looks at you, then back at the clock, biting his lip.

You raise an eyebrow. "You don't look like the type of guy who has anywhere to go at all, but alright," you say dubiously.

He glowers at you for a split second before pulling a pen out from his pocket, grabbing a napkin, and hastily scribbling something on one side. He slides the napkin over to you and tucks the pen behind his ear. "Call me," he says quickly.

You don't look at the napkin, instead staring at him in confusion. "Look, I don't know what kind of vibe I was giving off here," you say carefully, "but I'm not--"

"Gay?" he finishes for you. "Don't be ridiculous. You're patently bisexual." He slides the napkin closer. "We dated once, remember? Of course you don't."

Your confusion turns into dumbfoundedness. He smacks your head lightly before adding, "And I wasn't hitting on you, dumbfuck. I meant you should call me if you have questions, or if you want to know more." You nod slowly, and you wave as he breezes through the diner's exit.

You realize, after a minute of silence, that you never got his name. Then you remember the napkin. You pick it up, squinting at his sloppy penmanship, and you can make out this much:

KARKAT VANTAS  
555-0612

The name hits you like a tidal wave and, instead of fighting it, you let everything come back to you all at once.


End file.
